


Misfortune

by EthanTheAnnus



Series: I think therefore I am [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood, Budding Love, Canon-ish, Canonical Character Death, Explosions, Holding Hands, Immortality, Immortals, Immortals AU, Introspection, M/M, No Romance, Poison, injuries, semi-canon, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthanTheAnnus/pseuds/EthanTheAnnus
Summary: “Do you ever wonder if gods exist?” Dream asks suddenly. “Or wonder if maybe you are one?”“Why would I be a god?” It’s Sapnap who answers. “Or any of us, really?”“Dream could be.” George’s head is tilted a little when Dream turns to look at him. “I mean, think about it. He’s never once come close to losing a life. Techno, too.”-OR-Dream considers himself a god, alongside George and Sapnap. Meanwhile, half the country is still full of craters, and Schlatt isn't exactly the best President.The second part of my Immortals AU; can be read as standalone, but not recommended.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: I think therefore I am [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105787
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	Misfortune

**Author's Note:**

> *BANGS FISTS ON TABLE*  
> THIS IS THE ONE  
> THIS FIC IS THE MOTHERFUCKER THAT SPARKED THIS WHOLE AU

Dream knows he’s not a good person. He tries to be good, tries to better himself and the world around him, but it always fails. He picks up pieces of the world in his hands, fistfuls of sand. His hands are so hot that it melts into glass, that he moulds it into a better shape.

But it’s only a matter of time until he drops the shard, shattering it into tiny fractal pieces across an infinite abyss. There’s no one there to pick up the pieces except for himself, and whenever he tries, history repeats itself.

There are those who oppose him, and those who aid him. Ultimately, none of them can prevent the misfortunes that befall anyone who crosses his path. 

If gods were real, Dream would say he is one. Powerful in his own right, but not one most people admire; no, he’s the one they fear. The god of misfortune, the one who brings nothing but pain and suffering, driving people apart, splitting chasms and rifts down the earth’s surface.

Yet, through it all, there’s two people who keep coming back to him. Dream wants to push them away. To save them from him. Something in him stops him anytime he tries, though.

One of those two people is Sapnap. He’s almost the polar opposite of Dream, a beacon of light, cracking jokes and making people smile. Rarely does something crumble to pieces in his grasp and tumble into disrepair.

The other is George. He’s a kind of mid-ground between them; sparking arguments one minute, telling jokes the next. He’s an enigma, and Dream doesn’t think he’ll ever truly work him out.

If Dream’s the god of misfortune, then Sapnap’s the god of fortune. As for George, he’s simply the god of life, and death. He’s nothing more than a bystander in the end, watching as each endeavour breathes its first breath, and eventually its last.

But none of them have any control. They preside over things, watch as they happen, and can try to change them, but fate runs it’s cruel course either way. It’s why they’re all standing on the outskirts when the button is pressed, out of the blast range but close enough to watch everything being blown to all hell.

“So that’s gone now.”

Sapnap turns his head. “You’re not even a bit upset?”

Dream keeps his gaze forward, fixed on the destruction. “Everything I’m near breaks. It was only a matter of time.”

“We haven’t broken,” George says softly. Dream turns, meeting his gaze levelly.

“Yet.”

“We’re not going to break,” Sapnap says from the other side of Dream, voice firm. “We’re not fragile, Dream.”

Dream sighs heavily. He doesn’t know how to try and explain it, to tell Sapnap it’s not about fragility, that even bedrock would crumble under Dream’s touch. Instead, he says, “I know you’re not.”

George puts a hand lightly on Dream’s shoulder. “We should check if anyone was hurt.”

Dream turns his gaze to what was Manberg, now reduced to rubble and ash and buildings aflame. “I don’t doubt that at least one person was killed.”

“Do you have to be so pessimistic?” Sapnap demands as they make their way towards the crater in the ground.

Dream doesn’t answer; he doesn’t get the chance. Phil has stepped into view, covered in dust and dirt. His sword is clutched loosely in his grip, the blade painted a beautiful shade of crimson.

When Phil looks up, meets Dream’s gaze, it’s that of a broken man. There’s no doubt that the blood on Phil’s sword belongs to whoever blew everything up, and that they lay dead somewhere underground.

“Are you injured?” George asks as they draw near enough, ever the practical one. 

“No.” Phil’s voice is hollow as he speaks. Dream barely manages to catch him as he crumples, legs buckling.

“Who detonated the TNT?” Dream asks quietly.

“... Wilbur,” Phil says, and it falls into place why he looks like the entire earth had just cracked apart. Dream didn’t press him any further; there would be time to learn the details later, when Phil wasn’t so wracked with grief. George silently takes Phil’s sword, and Dream is acutely aware that the blood on the blade belongs to the son of the man he holds upright.

“I’ll take him,” Sapnap offers. Dream is happy to let his friend take Phil, and the second he can, he straightens up, surveying everything around him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, finally taking in all that Wilbur has destroyed with just the push of a button. He wonders vaguely how many valuable materials were lost.

“It’s a mess, huh?”

Dream turns and meets George’s gaze. “Nothing we can’t fix.”

George looks troubled, but accepts it. “So Wilbur’s dead.”

Dream casts his gaze back over the wreckage, scanning for any signs of people. “No loss.”

“...  _ No loss _ ?” 

He turns back to George, ignoring how upset he looks by the nonchalance of Dream’s words. “Wilbur was always going to be the traitor. No matter what we did, what  _ I  _ did, he was always going to press that button. Now that it’s happened, there’s no point dwelling on it.”

George doesn’t look completely convinced, but he lets out a soft sigh. “You’re right. We have to worry about the aftermath now.”

Dream offers him an approving smile. “Let’s get everyone accounted for. So far we only know Phil’s safe.”

George starts to pick his way down into the crater, and Dream follows, albeit more cautiously. There could be undetonated explosives, after all, though he doubts it. Wilbur was smart, and he’d have known how to rig everything to run smoothly.

As he sets about checking the rubble for people and materials, he wonders why he has so little control; it’s his server, yet sometimes, he feels as though he’s nothing but a pawn in a chess set, about to be sacrificed in order to win later. Maybe, he thinks, he should change that.

********

Three in the morning. That’s the time when Dream stumbles into the bedroom, exhaustion tugging at every inch of him. It was beyond worth it, though, in his eyes. Tucked snugly into a small pocket on the inside of the waistband of his pants is a single vial, made of glass that’s near impossible to break.

He’s a pawn no more. He’s got an out if someone tries to use him- and said out has multiple options. The potion inside is thick and golden. Just a single drop would be enough.

And there’s nothing to say that drop has to come anywhere near his lips.

“... Dream?”

“Go back to sleep,” Dream says, sounding far more coherent than he feels. In the semi-darkness, George sits up, and Dream wants to curse under his breath.

“Why were you up?”

“Plans for rebuilding,” Dream says, and the vial seems to weigh heavier in his pocket. “We’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“That’s good.”

From the farthest side of the room, Sapnap lets out a loud snore. George laughs loudly, then claps a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide. Thankfully, Sapnap doesn’t stir.

“And he says he doesn’t snore,” Dream says in an attempt to drag the focus off of him. It works, George laughing softly before settling back in under the covers. Dream sinks into his own bed, and lets his eyes shut.

Sleep drags at him, and the vial digs into his hip a little, but the discomfort isn’t bothersome. It’s a relief, actually, for him to have it within easy grasp. His next step is to make some of it into a splash potion; but that he’ll save for taking with him only when he’s going into a clearly dangerous situation, and the rest of the time has to pray the vial is enough. After all, he can’t carry a splash potion on him all the time when it can break open so easily.

From beside him, he can hear George roll over. Dream sighs softly, and lets sleep pull him under.

*********

Dream stands in the detonation room. Dust and rubble covers a good portion of it, two of the walls somewhat destroyed. At his feet lies a barely-recognisable corpse, dried blood pooled around the person’s stomach. Wilbur. The traitor.

Dream stares around him for a moment, then crouches down. He cups Wilbur’s dead face with a hand, turning his head enough that Dream can look at him.

“What did you hope to achieve with this stunt, I wonder? You must have known we’d simply rebuild. No matter.” 

Dream stands. Wilbur’s head drops back to the floor again.

“I’m sure there’s some kind of poetry in this. The room you detonated the TNT from becoming your tomb. But I’m no poet.” Dream pauses by the exit. “And neither are you.”

Then he steps outside, shutting the door behind him. It seals with a lasting finality; Dream knows no one will come down here ever again, and the last eyes to ever be laid upon Wilbur will be his.

*********

Being a god is lonely, Dream decides. The hilltop he stands on is isolated, wind whistling around him as he stares across the lands he lives in. Somewhere down there is the President, Schlatt, whose delusions of power feed into his ego. Sometimes, Dream wants to inform the ram hybrid of just how little power he truly has.

But Dream’s only a god in his mind. He’s not unkillable, not invincible, and it would be stupid to anger the one man who is willing to go to any lengths to eliminate anyone he deems a threat. So, he finds himself up here often, surveying the land that he swears, one day, will be his.

“You come here a lot.”

Dream doesn’t flinch at Sapnap’s voice, or even look surprised. “The view is good.”

“Looking at what’s yours?” 

“But I’m not looking at you,” Dream jokes, his gaze fixing on one of the towers studding the land below, the base of which is still partially destroyed from the explosion days earlier. Sapnap doesn’t laugh, just slides his hand into Dream’s. He doesn’t try to work out what it means, just lets it happen.

“There’s still a lot to rebuild,” Sapnap notes after a minute. “And Schlatt isn’t getting anyone to do it.”

“He’s focused on himself.” Dream turns his head to finally look at Sapnap. “His ego is full to bursting.”

“Discussing the damages still?” It’s George, and Dream turns to look at him in time to see confusion cross his face. “Why are you holding hands?”

Dream doesn’t say anything, only holding out his free hand to George. After a moment, George takes it, and Dream gently links their fingers. He likes this, he decides; holding hands with both the people who’ve stuck by him, time and time again. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel as cursed with bad luck, like the universe has given him a small respite.

Maybe, he thinks, Sapnap and George are the exceptions. The only two who can stand close without being burned.

“Do you ever wonder if gods exist?” Dream asks suddenly. “Or wonder if maybe you are one?”

“Why would I be a god?” It’s Sapnap who answers. “Or any of us, really?”

“Dream could be.” George’s head is tilted a little when Dream turns to look at him. “I mean, think about it. He’s never once come close to losing a life. Techno, too.”

Techno is someone Dream never considered in his thoughts before, but the moment George mentions him, it fits. A god of battle, perhaps, one who incites war and chaos and revels in the destruction it causes. But Dream doesn’t voice this.

“Sometimes I just wonder,” he says slowly. “Why everyone who crosses paths with me ends up crumbling apart. It’s got me thinking that maybe I’m a god; the one of misfortune.”

“Not everyone you’ve met has ended with their life in shambles,” Sapnap starts to argue, but Dream cuts him off.

“Yes, they have. Look below us. Doesn’t this destruction prove something? Everyone affected I  _ knew _ .”

“But not us,” George says slowly. “Which is why you asked, isn’t it? If we think we’re gods.”

Dream tightens his hold on both George and Sapnap’s hand subconsciously. “Yes.”

“If we were gods,” Sapnap begins, then pauses before continuing. “If we were… What would we control?”

“It’s less of control and more that you carry it with you.” Dream inhales slowly, deeply. “I’m misfortune. Sapnap’s fortune.”

“And me?” George’s voice sounds small, like he isn’t sure if he wants to know the answer.

“Life.” Dream breathes out. “And subsequently, death.”

George steps back, tearing his hand from Dream’s. His expression is unreadable as he turns and leaves; all Dream can do is watch him go. 

“You,” Sapnap says slowly, a slightly light-hearted lilt to his voice, “Are intense.”

“I’m just in my own head a lot,” Dream says, a little too defensively, meeting Sapnap’s gaze. “Too much time for thinking.”

Sapnap arcs an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”

Dream looks back down at the destruction below. “Right now? How incompetent our current President is.”

Sapnap snorts, squeezing Dream’s hand. “Too incompetent to measure.”

Dream laughs, feeling a little lighter already. Sometimes, he forgets he’s not the only one to carry something with him. Just because they’re opposites, doesn’t mean some of Sapnap’s fortune can’t spill over onto him, even for a little bit.

**********

Dream isn’t surprised to find the very next day that Quackity has stepped in as acting President. Quackity won’t confirm nor deny anything, but rumours spread fast, and the most popular theory is that Schlatt is handling recent events by doing what he does best; drinking and drinking until he passes out, dies, or both. 

There hasn’t been much done in way of repairs since the explosion. Dream’s almost convinced he’s the only one who cares about making sure everyone is housed again, not bunked in with other citizens and overcrowding sectors of the country. Maybe now, though, with Quackity as President, he can expect something to be done.

Still, as he pushes open the door to the White House, he’s not taking chances, not waiting for something to be done without his prompting. Quackity turns slowly, looking drained of all energy.

“What do you want?”

Dream pushes down any concern he has over how exhausted Quackity sounds. “Someone to start rebuilding, for one.”

Quackity cracks a small, tired smile. “Schlatt did neglect that, didn’t he?”

“There’s overcrowding in some sectors,” Dream says. “A lot of buildings and homes were destroyed in the blast.”

“Then I’ll put you in charge of rebuilding.” Quackity glances behind himself for a second. “I’ve got my hands full here.”

Dream gives him a sympathetic smile. “Schlatt, right?”

Quackity grins back, full of pain. “He’s a handful sometimes, but he’s all I’ve got.”

Dream nods. “I get it. I’ve been through a lot with my friends. I wouldn’t leave them for anything.”

Quackity smiles, then, a genuine one, with less tiredness to it. “And I can’t leave him. I know you’ll take good care of the repairs.”

Dream smiles again. “I’ll try my best.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves. It sets more firmly in his mind that Schlatt is nowhere near being a capable leader; it’s taken  _ Quackity _ , of all people, stepping up to lead to get a start on repairs. The second Schlatt is back in charge, everything will just go to hell again.  _ If  _ Schlatt takes over again.

A small smile forms on Dream’s lips. He’s a god, after all; why can’t he bend the world to his whims?

*********

  
  


It’s after midnight when Dream slips into the White House. The world around him is silent, almost oppressively so, and the vial digs into his hip slightly. He’ll have to make another after this, but that’s not hard to do.

He doesn’t have to look long to find the person he was after; Schlatt is passed out, sprawled across his bed. Dream can only assume Quackity carried him there, since it’s more likely he’d have drank himself stupid in his office. 

He slides the vial carefully into his hand, and creeps forward. Schlatt stirs, and Dream freezes. He can’t afford to fuck this up now, but it’s too late for him to do anything but lunge forward, throwing caution to the wind, as Schlatt begins to fully wake up. He manages to clap his hand over Schlatt’s mouth before he’s awake enough to scream; a second later, sharp teeth are sinking into the skin of his palm.

Dream grits his teeth, refusing to pull back. If he couldn’t back out before, he definitely can’t now. Schlatt’s eyes settle on him, but they don’t widen with recognition or fear. Instead, they burn with a fiery hatred so fierce Dream almost stumbles back. 

“You should know what this is,” he says, holding up the vial and giving it a tiny shake. “And you should know I want you to drink it.”

Schlatt bites down harder on Dream’s palm, eliciting a yelp from the limb’s owner. Dream shoots him a glare.

“Stop that.” He awkwardly uncorks the vial with one hand, then holds it out toward Schlatt. “Take it.”

Schlatt looks like he wants nothing more than to tear Dream limb from limb as he lifts a hand and takes the vial. Dream smiles, full of malice.

“Good. Now, if you try to scream…” Dream draws his sword, and it glints wickedly in the low light. “Anyone who comes running will die.”

A flicker of fear finally worms it’s way into Schlatt’s gaze. It’s a bluff, at the end of the day; the only other person in the White House is Quackity, and, for now, Dream would rather him alive. But Schlatt doesn’t know that.

Dream draws his hand back, ignoring the bleeding for now. The way Schlatt glares at him almost makes him laugh; it’s pure contempt and hatred. But Dream’s a god by his own design, and no mere mortal can lay a hand on him without his consent, least of all the hybrid before him. Dream leans forward, his smile widening to a grin.

“Drink it.”

Schlatt, surprisingly, doesn’t hesitate, and simply downs the contents of the vial. A second after he swallows, he looks up at Dream with a small, lopsided smile. “What’s meant to happen now?”

Dream’s heart stops.  _ How is he still alive? He shouldn’t be alive. _

Schlatt laughs at the look on his face. “You thought you could kill me.”

Dream’s hand flies out, wrapping tightly around Schlatt’s throat, his blood staining the hybrid’s skin. “How the fuck are you still alive?”

Schlatt seems unphased by being half-choked. “Look outside at all those people. I’m their President, their Emperor, their  _ god _ . No one’s going to get to me that easily.”

Dream studies him for a second, then draws back. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Schlatt agrees. “You got blood on my shirt.”

“You bit me!” Dream retaliates, holding up his hand for emphasis.

“You should put something on that.” The President gestures at the wound. Dream stares at him for a moment.

“You’re just going to let me walk out of here?”

Schlatt frowns at the blood on his shirt, rubbing at it slightly with a finger. “You got your chance to kill me, and failed. It’s harder for you to live with that than for you to die.”

Dream breathes out. “You’re less incompetent than I thought.”

Schlatt looks up. “You’re not as smart as you seem.”

Dream cracks a small smile at that. “T ouché  .” 

He then leaves the room. Schlatt shuts the door behind him. As he makes his way through the White House, his mind wanders.

Gods can be defeated sometimes. Knocked down a few pegs, shoved to the ground, but they bounce back. And the best way for him to bounce back, right now, was to turn his thoughts towards rebuilding what was destroyed.

*********

Dream stares out over the country as,  _ finally _ , repairs have begun. It worries him a little that he’s in charge, when everything he touches turns to ash, but he has some hope that it’ll be fine. That his misfortune won’t befall here a second time.

Maybe Sapnap’s fortune will balance it out. Yin and yang, right? Maybe tragedy will be followed by peace and prosperity. If not forever, at least for a while.

  
  


But he can’t keep worrying about it forever. If that’s another thing he knows about being a god, it’s that they don’t dwell on things. His lips quirk up into a small smile.  _ If I were a god outside of my own head, that is. _

He looks down at the buildings below him, at Sapnap and George, at his friends and the people he’d grown up around. Maybe, he thinks, he might not be a literal god. But he can be a god for them, for those he cares about, to defend them from anything to come. To keep everyone safe, for as long as he can.


End file.
